And One Time He Didn't

The cold chill of the night air made Skye curl up as tightly as she could in her bed, pulling the covers over her shoulders. She shivered uncontrollably, feeling as though she might cry.

It had been days since she had shot Lucas – twice – and consequently saved the Commander's life. Three days to be exact, in which time she had hardly thought of anything else. She kept replaying the expression of anguish in his face, the limp way his body fell after the last bullet pierced his flesh. She had never shot anybody before and the initial feeling of adrenaline and exhilaration had quickly settled in to an overwhelming sense of guilt and disgust at herself.

Taylor insisted that she hadn't had a choice. Her actions had saved him and therefore saved the colony. But still, on a cold night like this, Skye wondered where Lucas could have gone – if he had retreated back to the Sixers or if he were even still alive at all.

She turned over on the mattress, holding herself, questioning why on earth she cared what happened to that miserable creature, when she heard a creak from the floorboards outside. She held her breath in panic, her heart stopping.

"Who's there?" she dared to ask, trying to mask the fear in her voice. She questioned who could be wondering around at this time of night.

Another creak and she bolted upright, her pulse suddenly racing. The noises came closer until she was watching her door slowly open. She was frozen. Her mouth ran dry, and then she recognised the dark figure who was entering her bedroom. He emerged from the shadows, shuffling across her floor, his expression deadpan; unreadable.

"Lucas," she gasped, her whole body stiffening. She was speechless, too overcome by the horror his presence brought to form any word other than his name. Instead, she stuttered helplessly, terrified as he approached her.

"Shh," he said gently, and she was terrified as he climbed on to the mattress, leaning over her trembling form. It was then she realised that his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the smooth torso beneath it. Her eyes were drawn there, but not only because she was curious what his body looked like beneath those old, ragged clothes. What concerned her was the fact his muscular build bore no scars, no wounds from the gunshots three days ago. She couldn't understand it.

She swallowed, reached out to his chest without thinking. "Lucas, your wounds –"

"It's okay," he whispered, his expression soft and comforting for a change. She was suddenly aware of how much younger he looked, how kind his emerald eyes could be, how sweet and pleasant his smile was. In another time, in another place maybe, she may have considered Lucas Taylor to be quite beautiful. He leant closer, the heat from his warm body defrosting hers, and he ran his fingers gently across her face.

She closed her eyes slowly, finding his touch actually quite pleasing. "Lucas," she whispered, her voice trembling, unsure how to react, unsure of her feelings.

"Everything's okay," he assured her, taking her hand. She sunk down in to her mattress, feeling Lucas' hot breath against her skin and his body pressed against her, warming her. Her eyes were still closed when he brushed the loose hairs away from her face, circled his finger along her forehead. And then his lips lingered by hers, pausing for a second, letting the anticipation swell inside her a moment longer.

And then, finally, he leant in to kiss her. Slowly, gently. She couldn't breathe, but it was in a pleasant sort of way, and it was at that moment she realised she wasn't fighting back, but in fact, she was kissing him in return. Slowly, gently, lovingly. He repositioned himself on top of her, making sure not to hurt her, holding her cheeks in his hands, stroking the skin above her eyelids.

She couldn't understand it, but she was experiencing sensations she never even knew existed. And this, she thought, was probably why she was increasing their pace, running her hands across his hardened chest, why she was pulling his shirt down past his arms and then pressing him closer to her.

Her eyes fluttered open, deep in this newly discovered euphoria, when Lucas disappeared.

She woke up, her heart and body throbbing and aching. She raised a trembling hand to her lips, missing Lucas' touch, the presence of his body pushed up against hers. And then she collapsed back in to her covers again, releasing a frustrated groan, and once again feeling the bite of the evening's chill.